


Parental Guidance

by qwertygal



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21815485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertygal/pseuds/qwertygal
Summary: We learn from the  models of our parents--but what happens when you don’t want to follow those models?  Wyatt and Lucy prepare for the impending birth of their twins--can they weather the accompanying emotional storm?
Relationships: Wyatt Logan/Lucy Preston
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	Parental Guidance

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first story posted on AO3! Over the next little while I’ll be posting some of my older stories, as well as continuing on some of my current works in progress!  
> A huge thank you to OnceUponAWhim for all of her help with this one--I couldn’t have done it without you!

He twisted the allen key to the right, watching as the head of the screw came level with the wood. Shifting his weight to his left, he leaned over the smooth white railing, to check the other side. He shook his head in annoyance. It wasn’t square. Pushing back from his kneeling position, he balanced on his toes and considered the entire piece of furniture. Who ever thought it was a good idea to make a crib that just needed ‘a few twists of an allen key’, according to the illustrated instructions, to put together? How was that safe? He reached behind him for his tool box, grabbing a level and power screwdriver. He’d just add a few more screws, make sure each corner was completely square, that the joints were completely tight….that it was completely safe.

A few minutes later he stood and gave the frame a shake with his hand, it didn’t budge. He nodded, pleased with himself. One white--’antique ivory’, he heard Lucy’s voice amending in his head--crib. Meeting all state safety standards and additional Logan safety standards such that a tornado in a wind chamber wouldn’t cause it to loosen. One convertible crib with raised back board and storage drawer built….and one more to go. He turned toward the second box. This one was of exactly the same construction. He’d built one, so the second would be no big deal, right? 

About to pull the materials from their packaging, the reality of the situation hit him all at once, and he staggered backward until his back came in contact with the wall.

No big deal. 

The second one would be no big deal. 

In less than three weeks these two cribs would hold not one but two babies. 

Two babies. 

Two. 

Two to feed, clothe, care for….and generally keep alive for the next eighteen years. How the hell did the universe think that was a good idea? That he, Wyatt Logan, reckless hothead and all-around screw-up from way back should have that kind of responsibility? He closed his eyes and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the hardwood floor. 

He opened his eyes. 

The cribs were still there. 

This was insane. 

_ He _ was insane. He knew there were things he did well--pick a lock, give pep talks to new recruits, organize small scale military advancements, hand to hand combat in close quarters, cook dinner over an open flame without giving all his men food poisoning…..check, check, check, check, and check. But babies? Nope….not on that list. To be a father--a role model, a guiding hand--how could he ever do this?

He covered his face in his hands. Get a grip, Logan. You  _ can _ do this. 

Besides, it wasn’t just him, was it? It was Lucy too, and Lucy would know what to do, she knew everything. Lucy would help him.

“Idiot,” he said aloud. Lucy wouldn’t have time to help him, she was going to be a mother of two. He wouldn’t do that to her….he couldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t be one of those hands-off fathers, leaving everything to her. That wasn’t going to happen--he wouldn’t let that happen. He was  _ all in _ on this, he wanted to do this. He gritted his teeth, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs.

It was then that he saw it. The tiny square of white--antique ivory--wood, sitting on the floor. Sitting on the floor, three feet from his left foot….and most definitely  _ not _ in its no-doubt-important place in the structure of the bed meant to hold his child.

Then that little voice in his head that had been growing louder and more persistent all week taunted him again.  _ Doesn’t matter if you ‘want to’ if you ‘can’t’ do it, does it? _ He had no business being a father. And in his incompetence he’d no doubt make things harder on Lucy, not easier….and it would completely screw up his kid. 

Kids. 

_ Shit _ .

He pushed himself back up into a crouching position, reaching for the piece of wood, and grabbing it. He brought it closer to his face, studying it intently. Where was it supposed to go? His gaze went back to the now-not-so-complete crib. What had he missed? He shook his head. The crib was solid, he knew that, so why did this little piece matter? He sank back down onto the floor again, his back against the wall, and he turned the tiny piece over in his hand, running his fingertips along its side

Real great, Logan….can’t even build a simple crib without forgetting something.

He couldn’t even get a simple assembly project right.

_ “Can’t even fix the drain without forgetting something!” _ a voice from another time, another place, echoed.  _ “What kind of idiot are you?” _

What was going to happen when it really mattered? When he had two children depending on him for guidance and protection?

He pulled his knees up, wrapping one arm around them, still staring at the piece of antique ivory wood in his other hand.

He wasn’t sure how long he had sat there, when he heard her voice, “There you are! Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

_ Calling him? _ He closed his eyes, and replied, “I didn’t hear you.” He opened his eyes and glanced up from the floor--and saw her in the doorway, looking back toward the stairs.

“We’re supposed to get back to--”

He raised his head. He tried to keep the threatening tears at bay. “Lucy?” He said softly.

“--the midwife about when we can--”

He took a breath, and cut her off. “I….I’m so sorry, I don’t think….I don’t think I can do this. It’s….I’ll screw it up.”

“The crib?” she asked, not yet looking at him, but instead walking toward the crib, and running her hand along its top rail. “I mean, I know they can be complicated, but are you telling me Mr. Delta Force has been bested by a small piece of furniture?”

He bit his lip-- _ she didn’t understand _ .

She grabbed the instructions from where they sat on top of the small dresser. He watched as she glanced over the diagrams, then turned the page and scanned the images again. She blew out a breath. “I mean….I guess we could ask Rufus, right? He’s an engineer….or Jiya--bet she could do it with one hand tied behind her back.”

Lucy turned then,really  _ looking _ at him for the first time since she’d entered the room. He saw her face turn first quizzical, then fill with concern.

“Wyatt?” she crossed the room to stand beside him, then, after first seeming to test its strength with her hand, lowered herself to perch on the second crib box, and placed her hand on his shoulder.

He didn’t look at her--instead continued staring straight ahead. “I don’t think I can be a father.”

There was silence from her, in response to his statement. He turned toward her, glancing up at her face, his tears flowing now. He watched her expression go blank in confusion momentarily, then shift to concerned, and then anger….and then something like apprehension--but ever so much worse.

“What?” she finally said. “No, you’re not….no,” her face had gone pale. “You can’t--” she choked on a sob, “You’re not  _ leaving _ ?”

Her question hit him like a punch to the stomach.  _ Leaving? What was she talking about?  _ He played back his previous words in his mind. 

_ Shit _ .

He hurriedly pulled himself into a crouched position beside her--until he was looking directly into her eyes. She’d misunderstood his meaning--he couldn’t let her believe that for another second. He clasped both of her shoulders with his hands, turning slightly so that he was looking directly into her eyes. “No,  _ no _ ,” he said, the words coming out in a panicked rush. He took a breath, “Never,” he said, more evenly this time, searching her now-watering eyes, trying to ensure there was no misunderstanding this time.

He continued watching her eyes as she processed his words--the flicker of hope that brightened their hue, the slight widening as she understood his words….and then a torrent of fresh tears--tears not of fear or sadness, but of relief.  _ Thank God _ . He stood and shifted his hands to pull her into an embrace, holding her tightly as she leaned into him.

She sniffed against his shoulder, “Then what was all that….?”

He sighed, and pulled back from her, meeting her eyes. How could he explain? “I just--” his voice broke as his earlier emotions--all the fear, anxiety, confusion, shame, and guilt broke free from his carefully constructed restraints and swirled through his brain and body. Emotions seemingly egged on by the return of that voice from his past--reminding him that he wasn’t, and would never be good enough for any of this. 

Pulling back from her embrace, the words tumbled out, “I don’t know what to do!” 

He crumpled back to sit on the floor again, holding his head in his hands.

“Wyatt?” he felt her hand brush his shoulder. And somehow through all the noise in his head, he registered the concern in her voice. He pushed his head back against the wall, opening his eyes and attempted to give her a small smile, to let her know he was okay.  _ But he wasn’t, was he _ ? This time his battle with his emotions was short, and a losing one, as the darkness returned again. He felt new tears threatening, as he pulled his gaze back to Lucy’s face. He took a breath, “Lucy….I don’t know what to do….I don’t know….I don’t know how to be a dad, a parent. I mean,” the words coming out in a rush, he continued, “My own Dad….I’ve told you about that….and I hardly remember my mom.” A sob escaped at that word, and he registered that the tears were now flowing freely down his face. He pressed a hand against his forehead, covering his eyes from Lucy’s gaze. 

“Oh,” he heard her breath. He dropped his hand, glancing back to her at the sound. He watched as, with a look of determination in her eyes, she brought the hand that had been on his shoulder to the wall, and bracing herself, shifted her weight off the box, and began to unsteadily lower her body. He reached out to grab her elbow, supporting her as she moved to sit beside him on the floor.

“Thank you.”

He nodded slightly, watching as she settled herself, and then grabbed his hand and held it tightly. He shook his head at her, slightly. “You don’t seem as freaked out as I’d expect by that.”

She gave a small smile, “Because I’ve been there too….and I’m sure I’ll be there again. You’re panicking a bit about being a parent….and I know what that feels like. She shook her head, “With everything surrounding my mother, it’s hard to think of much else sometimes.” She brushed a tear from his cheek with the hand not currently holding his. “So I’m familiar with some of those feelings of yours, and the panic that comes with them. But, more importantly, regardless of that panic you may be feeling right now, I also know that you’ll be an amazing father.”

He squeezed her hand. “It’s not just nerves though. It’s…..” he sighed. “You’ve said yourself that some of the stuff, when I was a kid, that some of the stuff with my Dad sounded abusive.”

“Not sounded abusive, Wyatt,” she cut in, “It was abusive.”

He nodded. “So then what does that mean for me, now--about to become a father myself. Isn’t that what happens? People from abusive families go on and….” he trailed off, not able to say any more.

She shifted then, leaning against his side. He instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 

“Okay, so I think I understand better what’s bothering you the most--you’re afraid of somehow repeating your father’s behavior. But,” she said, leaning into his side, “That doesn’t change things. What happened to you when you were little….that doesn’t have to dictate how it’s going to be in the future. I think it’s like everything else--you have a choice, right?”

He bit his lower lip, listening yet still not convinced.

“You have the power to make that choice--to choose to be the type of parent your father never was. And just even the fact that you’re worried about this--I think you’ve already made that choice, don’t you?”

He gave a noncommittal grunt.

Suddenly he felt her straighten against him, releasing his hand and running it along his other arm until she reached his clenched fist. “What’s in your hand?”

He opened his fist, revealing the tiny square of wood. “I wish I knew,” he glanced over to her, seeing the question in her eyes. “It’s a part from the crib,” he nodded at the crib, “Just have no idea where it goes.”

She reached over, taking it from him. “Do you think it matters?”

He shrugged slightly. “Probably not--I added about 15 extra screws anyway….the crib’s sturdy.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but then she nodded, “So, what is it about it that has you holding it so tight you left an imprint on your palm?” She set the wood on the floor then brought both hands to his, massaging lightly.

He sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. “The house we lived in--my Dad an’ me, when I was a kid--it was old. The plumbing was always going on it. So one day my Dad, he decides we’re replacing all the plumbing in the kitchen. He could be handy with that kind of stuff….when he was sober. So we work a few hours--the whole kitchen floor is covered in pipes an’ fasteners, it’s just starting to take shape when he decided he was done for the day--went to town to drink with his buddies, told me to finish the job.” 

He saw her eyes widen in surprise out of the corner of his eye, but he pressed on. “I spent the rest of the day--and into the night--putting all the pieces back together, making sure the seals were good. My dad finally came back to the house then--staggers into the kitchen. An’ I’m all proud--turning on the sink tap, showing him how I got everythin’ to line up right. He’s not really listening, but then there’s this drip sound.” Wyatt shook his head, “Sounded like a cannon going off to my ears. He tells me to open the lower cupboard door….and sure enough, the water’s dripping down the drain pipe, pooling below the elbow. I thought….I don’t know what I thought he was going to do, but he turned away from me and started across the room…. And that’s when I saw what he had obviously seen…. A rubber slip joint, just sitting there on the floor. I’d missed it….though, I don’t know that I would have known what to do with it, even if I’d seen it….” he trailed off, with a half-shrug.

“What happened?” He felt her hand trail down his arm and grip his hand.

He squeezed her hand back. “He picked the joint up, threw it at me….and started cussing--told me that if I couldn’t take care of the house properly I didn’t deserve to live in it.” He continued, faster now, just trying to get through the story, “Told me I could sleep outside--shoved me out the door, and locked it behind me.”

He felt her tense in surprise. “How….how old were you?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know--nine, maybe?” He scoffed, “Course it was raining too, started to thunder….I didn’t like storms much, and there was nowhere to go--the shed was locked, so was the car. I even considered the dog’s house--but I was always kind of scared of that dog--it hated me, always snapping and snarling….so I just sat against the front wall of the house, there was a bit of shelter from the rain from the roof overhang….not much, but it helped.” He sighed, and traced a circle on the back of her hand with his thumb. “Next morning, my Dad comes out on the porch on his way to go to town and sees me sitting there--asks what kind of idiot I am to have locked myself out in the rain.....I don’t think he even remembered sending me out there.”

He heard her gasp, felt her draw back slightly from his side, and he glanced over in her direction, seeing her eyes wet and her features tense with emotion. He brought the hand he held in his up to his mouth, ghosting a kiss across her knuckles.

“How could he? It’s….” she seemed unable to find words for a moment, but then shook her head, and continued. “You were a child, it was his responsibility….” Her voice trailed off, and he watched the anger in her eyes fade to something that looked closer to heartbreak. “Wyatt….the way he was….what happened to you….that was wrong, you know that, right?”

“Of course I know it’s wrong,” he sighed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it happened….and just now, seeing that crib piece sitting there on the floor…..it was like it was yesterday ...and I heard his voice.” He ran a hand through his hair, not sure how to explain. “It’s just that everything became real….all at once. I know my Dad’s brand of discipline was wrong, but, that’s the thing, Lucy. I’m about to become a Father….and I have no idea what to do. Okay, so I avoid doin’ pretty much anything my own father did….I get that….but what do I do instead? I don’t have a model, a plan….just knowing what  _ not _ to do isn’t enough. There’s too much at stake.”

“I don’t know, not locking our kids outside for the night sounds like a good starting point to being a parent.”

He looked down at her, and she gave a small smile and shrug. She squeezed his hand. “Okay then, what about your Grandpa?”

“What?”

“You told me he picked up all the slack--so think about the way he was with you, the way he  _ parented _ you. The way he guided you, encouraged you….believed in you. Still called you out when you needed it, but always from a place of love.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, and swiped an errant tear from his cheek. “Grandpa made me feel like I wasn’t completely a screw up….that maybe I could do something worthwhile.

She nodded emphatically. “So take a page from his playbook….when you’re questioning how to parent….think about what he would do.”

He exhaled, harshly. “I’ll try….but what if….” he trailed off.

“What if what?” She asked gently.

He sighed, bringing his free hand up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s just that it’s all fine and good to talk about doing that here, now….but what if, in the moment….what if I end up more like  _ him _ \-- like my father.” He shifted, bringing his hand down to grasp hers again, pulling her tighter against him.

“Tell me more?” she asked. 

He glanced down--her expression was open, inviting. He was terrified he would shock her…..anger her….but he took a deep breath, continuing. “These kids share half my genes--so that means they’re gonna make mistakes.”

She shook her head, slightly, “I promise you, my genes make mistakes too….and are insanely clumsy, so there’s that.”

He gave her a soft smile and nodded, releasing her hand and brushing his in a circle against her belly. “Fine, but….that’s the thing. I will do everything I can to be like my Grandpa, I will work so hard at it…. but what if they make a mistake….what if they do something dangerous, and I get scared? In the heat of the moment I don’t know if I can stay calm….I might, I don’t know, go back to my normal patterns or something--turn into….him. I don’t want to ever hurt them like my dad hurt me.”

She blew out a breath, and he glanced back to her gaze. “Well,” she began, “I don’t think any of us are at our best when we’re scared. But that doesn’t mean you’ll automatically turn into him. Yelling to protect them from a danger is one thing--but I know you, and I know that after the immediate danger had passed, you’d explain to them….they’d feel your love.”

“You seem to have a lot of faith in me that I’m more like my Grandpa than my father.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Hm. I don’t need to have faith--I’ve already seen it, in action.”

“What do you mean?”

She chuckled lightly, squeezing his hand again. “Wyatt--being a parent is about guidance and love, protection, belief….even if your father--and my mother--had some different ideas about that. And no, I haven’t had the opportunity to see you around many children, maybe you haven’t had the opportunity to be around children that much….but all those traits, I see them in you every day.

He shook his head, glancing back at the floor.

“Wyatt,” she put her hand under his chin, bringing his gaze back to hers. “Think about all those NSA recruits you’ve been training for Christopher--they look up to you, you help them become better agents--you’ve had people tell you that themselves!”

“They’re specially trained operatives with experience in other agencies, hand-picked to be a part of the program. I think they’re a little different than children.”

“Oh, I don’t know if that’s true. But fine, if you think it’s different with NSA recruits, then what about the way you were with two green civilians you were forced to take on….forced to take into a highly dangerous and unpredictable combat environment?”

Now he was confused. “What do you mean?”

She looked at him in surprise, and laughed. “I mean Rufus and me! Do you remember, those first few missions? Pretty sure the only reason Rufus and I are alive is because of you. But it wasn’t just because of your protection with a firearm. You taught us what we needed to know to survive--sometimes directly, always be example.” She shifted, tucking her head against his neck. “You encouraged us, had faith in us. And you give the most amazing pep talks.”

She paused. He leaned his head lightly against hers, staring at their joined hands as he played with the ring on her finger.

“You help people grow,” she continued, “NSA agents, civilian time travellers…. I think mostly, because you know how to listen, how to really listen, and you never judge….which makes me, at least, more apt to talk. You’re an amazing sounding board, you build up people’s confidence by celebrating their ideas--you want to see everyone succeed. You believe in people. And--when someone’s about to eat poisonous berries and you’re scared? You pull the berries out of their hand, explain why, and move on.  _ That’s _ what Wyatt Logan does when he’s scared.”

“That….that mission stuff is different.”

“Really? Why? Teaching, encouraging, having faith in people, helping them to grow….all while you protect them…. That sounds like a pretty good Dad to me.”

He stilled his hand then, as her words sunk in.  _ Is that what she truly saw in him? _

“Look,” she said, “I can’t know exactly what it’s like, thinking about fatherhood, given your history. And I can’t promise that there won’t be difficult times--times that you say or do things you’ll regret….things you’ll wish you’d handled differently. But I know you….and when that happens I know you’ll work to fix it….to make it right. And that’s what’s most important. No parent is perfect….but our children don’t need perfect, just someone who is willing to learn from those mistakes….and to love them.

He exhaled as she shifted, straightening so that she no longer leaned against him, and then looked him in the eye. “You’ll drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking ‘what would my Dad do?’ or ‘What would my Grandpa do?’. You know how to be the best parent you can be? Be  _ you _ .

He glanced at the ground. Was it really that simple? But if Lucy had that kind of faith in him, maybe he could have just a little, too?

“Wyatt?”

“Hm-hm,” he looked up, meeting her gaze again.

“Have you talked to James about this?”

James was his therapist--a captain in the army for years, he’d gone back to school at retirement to pick up a doctorate, and had a caseload focusing on military and related PTSD casework. After RIttenhouse had been destroyed, Lucy had suggested that they both should consider talking to someone--part of the process of figuring out how to live normal lives again. He’d begrudgingly agreed at first--he hadn’t really expected any good to come of it, but gradually had learned to trust the man, and he knew that it had been helpful. But that was different, wasn’t it? He sighed. “No,” he replied, “I mean he works military-related cases for a reason, Luce. Not sure that babies would be his thing.”

“You told me that you talked about your parents, your childhood, sometimes.”

“Yeah, but….”

“Maybe he’d think talking babies would be a nice change of pace.”

He chuckled at her, “You’re concerned my therapist is bored with me?”

He felt her shoulders shake in a silent laugh at that. “Wyatt Logan boring? Never.” She stilled then, and he could tell she was serious again. “I just mean--even though it’s not the usual topic of conversation, it could be worthwhile, still. I was thinking of meeting with Susan again to talk about some of my own concerns--my own worries, about being a mother.”

He nodded, “Worries related to your mom?”

She nodded, then looked up at him. “Like I said earlier, the emotional space you were in, when I came into the room? I’ve been there before. A lot, lately..”

He pulled her tighter against his side. “Tell me,” he said softly.

She was quiet for a moment, he waited.

Eventually she sighed, “I don’t want to try to control them,” she released his hand, and he watched as she brought her now free hand to her stomach, and started rubbing it in small circles.

He hated that her past was such that it made that worry legitimate. He wanted to tell her all the reasons that was crazy, all the reasons she shouldn’t have a single negative thought right now….but how could he, when they had once again found themselves on such difficult common ground. He put his hand over hers. “You won’t,” was all he said.

She shook her head against him. “You don’t know that--any time I think about them in the future….them taking their first wobbly steps, going on playdates, choosing high school classes, taking a summer job when they’re sixteen….whenever I think about  _ any _ of those things, all I can think of is me being an overbearing monster pushing them and manipulating them from behind the scenes….trying to control their every move.” She sighed, and a stray tear escaped the corner of her eye, trickling down her cheek.

He chewed his lip--it was hard for him to see her like this, with all the worry seeming to rob the joy from her eyes.

“How do I not do it?” she continued, “How do I stand back and watch as they make terrible mistakes….how do I stop myself?” her words were tumbling out of her now.

“Lucy,” he jumped in, attempting to halt the emotional tailspin he sensed she was entering. “It’s not about never stepping in….there’s a time and a place--”

“I won’t be my mother, Wyatt.”

“So when they’re six and tell us they are running away to join the circus are you, as a non-controlling mother, just going to say, ‘okay then, good luck’?

She drew back her head, and looked at him quizzically. He suppressed his grin--he had shocked her out of her spin, as he had intended. 

“What are you talking about?” she asked, “Join the circus?” 

He shrugged, “Yeah, blame Jiya for that, you know she’ll still be talking about those trapeze lessons Rufus gave her.

His ridiculous story had its intended effect--he watched as the tension dropped from Lucy’s face, and she smiled slightly. “What?”

He chuckled softly, and shifted again, sliding around to look at her squarely. All I’m trying to say is that it’s not the end of the world if you try to control some things in their life….especially if these kids are in any way reckless….which is a distinct possibility,” he winked at her. Most people would call that  _ protecting _ them. There’s a big difference between protecting them, and trying to control their every move. I mean, did your Dad do that?”

“Hm?” she asked. He could see the interest in her eyes at his question.

“You talked about my Grandpa--that he was a better model for parental care than my father was….so what about your Dad? You’ve told me before he was different than Carol.”

She smiled, and he sensed she was far away for a moment, remembering. “Yes,” she said, simply. “For Amy and me, he was our rock--a place of comfort in hard times, and our biggest cheerleader--every accomplishment, he celebrated, every dream we had, he nurtured. Even the silly ones.”

“I don’t think any dream young Lucy Preston had should be considered ‘silly’.”

She gave a half-smile. “You obviously aren’t familiar with my dream in Kindergarten of running a unicorn breeding farm.”

He chuckled, “Okay, maybe that’s a little bit silly,” he conceded, “But you never know, maybe Mason would be interested in that as his new enterprise.”

She snorted. “But even with something like that unicorn farm, my Dad would want to know more about it--he’d ask questions about why I wanted to do it, what I might name my farm….that kind of thing. I know he exasperated my mother sometimes with that stuff….she would call him impractical.”

“Was he?”

She looked at him questionly.

“Was he truly impractical? Or did he still work a job, contribute to the family, keep you and your sister safe….”

“Of course he still did all those things.”

Wyatt nodded. “So, if my Grandpa Sherwin is a good model for me, then it sounds like your Dad is a good model for you.”

“I hope so,” she whispered, and he watched as she chewed her lower lip--seeming to consider the point further. Eventually, she met his eyes again and gave a small smile. “You know, all I care about is that they’re happy--that’s it….I don’t have any preconceived agenda, I don’t want to make them into miniature versions of me….or of anyone else. My mother never really got that--she thought everything I did reflected on her….that she had to make sure I did things the ‘right’ way. I still can’t decide if she wanted to control what I did because of what other people thought, or if it was her own desire to see me just like her….but either way, I don't want that for our kids.”

He smiled at her. “Sounds like you’ve already made the choice then, haven’t you? You’ll guide them the right way--help them find the kind of life that makes them happy, not force your wishes on them.”

He watched as she bit her lip then continued, “And what about on days when that’s not so easy--when the lines become blurred between guiding or protecting and controlling?”

He pursed his lips in thought for a moment. “Well, then I’m here to help,” he said. “I’ll let you know when you’re getting close to that line….help you put it back in perspective.”

“You will?”

He nodded. “Hm-m. We’ll both help each other--you’ll help me when you think my emotions are about to get the best of me, let me know that I’m about to do something impulsive.”

She smiled softly. “So my mission is to stop Wyatt Logan from being lead by his emotions? Seems like I get the rough end of this bargain.”

“Hey!” he laughed, “It’s not exactly easy to get your attention when you're on a bossy rant either, you know.”

She snuggled tighter against him. “True. So….no problem then, I warn you when you’re entering reckless-hot-head zone, you warn me when I’m being a bossy-know-it-all. And somewhere….between the two of us, we’ll be good parents.”

“Deal.”

She looked up at him. “You know the worst of it?

“What?”

“Two of them. There’s going to be two of them. And that scares the heck out of me. They’re totally going to be ganging up on us, aren’t they?”

He laughed. “Oh yeah.” He kissed her forehead, “This is going to get messy, isn't it?”

“Well, someone wise did once tell me that there’s always a mess.”

“Yeah? Well whoever told you that sucks. Right now, I just need everything to be perfect thanks….no mess.”

She chuckled slightly. “I’m familiar with that sentiment. I think the best we can hope for is ‘perfect for us’....and of course it will be messy.”

He smiled down at her then, tracing circles on her cheek with his finger. “A perfect mess.”

“Our perfect mess.”

“Our family,” he replied.

She nodded slowly, brushing a single stray tear from her eye. “I know it’s not going to always be easy--we’re both going to make mistakes. But that’s okay….that’s how we’ll learn, how we’ll become stronger as parents, stronger as a family.”

He nodded. “I’m always stronger with you by my side, and this will be the same.”

She smiled at him. “Me too.” She leaned in, brushing a light kiss against his cheek. She pulled back then, watching him for a moment before she spoke again. “And you know what? I already know how much I already love them….how much you already love them….and we haven’t even met them yet. And starting with all that love….it means everything’s going to be okay.”

He slid his fingers to her chin, tipping her face up to him as he bent lower and kissed her.

A sharp kick coming from inside Lucy’s stomach caused them to break apart with a chuckle.

“Ow,” said Lucy, rubbing her belly, “Someone’s active.” She glanced at the crib, and the other box sitting beside it. “Are you doing the other crib tonight too? It’s not essential, I want them in their bassinets for a while anyway….”

He nodded, “I know, but they’ll need somewhere for naps….and I’m still concerned about how all four of us will fit in that bedroom.” He glanced around at the lengthening shadows in the room, the darkening sky outside the window. “And most importantly, I wouldn’t want to disturb them with construction projects once they’re here.” He stretched slightly. “But--I’ll do it tomorrow. I was planning on installing the car seats tomorrow too. Which, by the way, have an even larger instruction manual than these cribs. I really may need to call on Rufus or Jiya for that one”

She laughed.

He shook his head at her, “Not funny--how can car seats even be that complicated? It's crazy, s’what it is, how we’re supposed to keep them safe.”

“It’s not a problem.” she said, still smiling.

“No?”

“Nope,” she winked at him, “Turns out I happen to know someone who’s pretty good with seatbelts.”

He chuckled. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?” He sighed, “Okay--so tomorrow is officially antique ivory crib number two  _ and _ car seats day.”

She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Sounds good--though you know I could go into labor early….any time now--with twins, it’s a real possibility!”

“You and your possibilities,” he laughed again. It’ll get done.”

“How do you know?”   
“I don’t, really….but I do know that this stuff--the crib, the clothes, the change table….none of it’s what’s really important, is it. Like you said, we’ve already got the important stuff, the love. Also--your ‘possibilities’ haven’t disappointed me yet.”

She nodded, and smiled.

“And besides,” he threw her a lazy smirk, “They could just share one crib for a while….they’ll be tiny, and it’s more room than they have now,” he said, and smiling, moved the hand that was not wrapped around her shoulder to lay lightly across her belly. He was feeling more himself again--Lucy always had that ability, to help him find his balance, help him find his way. He was apprehensive still, of course, but it was mixed again with that excitement he’d been experiencing since Lucy had first announced she was expecting. They knew all about the past, the two of them, and now he was excited to learn more about what their future held.

A gurgling sound came from just under his hand, where it lay on Lucy’s stomach. Evidently the future was going to have to wait, as there were more immediate concerns.

“Are you hungry?”

She hummed dramatically, and then said, “I could eat.”

He smirked at her, it was a joke between them now--eating for three, lately she could  _ always _ eat.

He shifted, releasing her shoulder and bringing his arms around to his front , pressing his hands to his knees and slowly bringing himself to a stand. “Don’t really feel like cooking--you wanna go out, to that cafe on the waterfront with the sandwich you like?”

She pushed her head back against the wall, shaking it with a bemused expression. “You say that as if there’s any way on this earth that I’m going to be able to get myself up off this floor right now. I think I may be stuck here….possibly until after the babies are born.”

He lifted an eyebrow, “Well, that’s just gonna make a mess of the hardwood.”

She slapped ineffectually at his ankle.

“Come on, professor,” he said with a laugh, reaching out a hand to her. As she grasped it, he moved to her side, ducking down to wrap himself around her and bracing against the wall, as he helped her pull herself to her feet. She wobbled a little as she got her feet under her, but he braced them both against the wall until she was standing. His arm around her shoulders, he gave her a half-hug, and said with a chuckle, “Graceful, Luce.”

“You. Be. Quiet,” she punctuated each word with a playful punch to his shoulder. “I made it up, didn’t I?”

“I never doubted,” he said, smiling at her.

He watched as she bit her lower lip. “How are you feeling now, about things?”

He sighed, “Better. Still scared as heck, but better.” He ran his hand down her arm, grasping her hand in his, and laying both their hands over her stomach.

“And you?”

“My back hurts, my feet ache, I’m bloated as a walrus, I have continuous heartburn, and my boobs hurt. And I’m still scared….but excited….and hopeful too….all at once.”

“I know that feeling,” he laughed.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“I mean the scared and excited and hopeful all at once thing….not the others….especially not the sore boobs.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” she said, laughing lightly. She grew serious again and turned slightly, facing him. “We can do this,” she murmured.

He nodded, holding her gaze. “We can--we will.” He bent down to kiss her again, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

And there was another kick.

Lucy laughed.

“Not cool, kid,” he said, a wide smile on his face as he watched Lucy, still overcome with giggles, rub at her belly. He grasped her hands in his, pressing them against her stomach again.

“We got this, you and me.”

She nodded, “We do” 

* * *

**Epilogue:**

Wyatt leaned against the door frame, gazing at the two ‘antique ivory’ cribs, visible even in the near midnight darkness because of the low light given off by the night light. 

Two cribs. 

Holding their two perfect daughters.

He heard a soft voice from behind him, “Hey, are you coming to bed?”

Without looking he stepped into the room and held out his arm. He felt Lucy curl into his side, but he didn’t take his eyes off of the cribs.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “I just wanted to….” he trailed off, he had no idea how to put it into words--his need to see them, to check on them, to reassure himself that all was well--that they were well.

“I know,” she replied, Pushing onto her tiptoes to brush a light kiss against his cheek. “I was thinking exactly the same thing.”

They stood there for several moments, wrapped in each other’s arms, listening to the quiet breaths of their children.

“I know you hoped to have them in the bassinets for longer….you know, more than--”

“--two nights?” She asked, he could hear the wry smile in her tone. “I was….but it wasn’t going to work….the room was too small, it was all just too much….I mean, the crying was pretty bad.”

“Hm-hm,” he agreed, “And that was just you and me.” He chuckled as she elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Besides,” he sighed, “Having to leap over a sleeping infant to get through the door on your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night wasn’t very practical….and probably a fire code violation.”

“So,” he felt her shrug against him, “Our first lesson learned as parents. I think this will work well--we’ve got the baby monitors, and the rocking chair….since I’m pretty sure one or the other of us will be spending a lot of time in here.”

“Hm,” he said, “Maybe we should get a second rocker?” he squeezed her shoulder, “It’ll be fine, Luce.”

She leaned her head back against his chest. “I never got the chance to say thank you for the cribs, the car seats….for everything you managed to do so quickly….I don’t know what we would have done otherwise.”

He dropped his chin, pressing his lips against the top of her head and murmured, “Nothin’ compared to what you did. You were pretty busy yourself, with the whole going-into-labor-three-weeks-early thing.”

He felt her shrug, “I did tell you that with twins it could happen early, that I could go into labor at any time.”

“Hm,” he smiled into her hair, “Know-it-all.”

She turned in his arms, he could feel a retort coming, but whatever she was about to say was cut off by a yawn. “Okay,” she said, “I’m going to let that go, because I’m too exhausted to care.”

He shifted, pulling her back against him, and she grabbed his hand in hers. “What do you think the chances are of them sleeping for more than two hours tonight?” he asked.

“Probably slim to none if we keep whispering in the corner of their bedroom like this,” she replied, bringing his hand up and brushing a kiss against it.

He chuckled lightly, “True.” He was quiet for a moment then, lost in his own thoughts about Lucy and their baby girls--his  _ family _ . He squeezed her hand slightly. “So, I was thinking maybe it’s time for a check-in.”

She turned in his arms until she was facing him. “A check-in?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “How’re we doing?”

“She raised an eyebrow at him.”

“Emotionally, I mean,” he clarified, “With this parenting thing?”

He watched as her gaze shifted to their sleeping girls, then back to meet his eyes again. She smiled, and pushed up on her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Good….really good.”

He returned the smile, “Me too.”

She turned in his arms until they were both facing their daughters again. “I can hardly even remember now, what it was like before they were here.”

He scoffed against the top of her head, “I might still remember some of that The planning, the excitement,” He paused, squeezing her to him, “The occasional bouts of utter panic….” He paused, thinking back. “But it does sometimes feel like a lifetime ago--like we’re completely different people now.”

He felt her shrug, slightly. “It was their lifetimes ago. And we  _ are _ different now--we’re their parents.” She gave a contented-sounding sigh. “So next check-in--everything that came before….the planning, the excitement, even those bouts of utter panic….was it worth it?”

“Worth it, and more.” he whispered, letting his gaze swing from his baby girls, and back to Lucy. The mention of those bouts of panic sent his mind backward to that day only a few weeks ago when things had seemed so impossible….and reminded him of what he’d wanted to share with her.

He cleared his throat softly. “Speaking of that old panic--” he reached toward the dresser, clasping the small item he’d set there a few moments earlier in his hand.

She turned toward him with an eyebrow arched in question.

“When I went fishing under the dresser a few minutes ago, to grab a dropped pacifier….look what I found.”

He opened his hand and a small square of white wood dropped into Lucy’s hand.

She looked at it with a confused expression, turning it over in her own hand to examine it. “What is….wait,” she said, as he saw recognition dawn in her eyes, “Is this--?”

“--the piece I missed from the first crib,” he said. “Yeah. It wasn’t until I pulled it out from under the dresser that it hit me….when I put together the second crib? There wasn’t another piece like it in that box.”

She looked at him quizzically, “So….this piece was--”

“--extra, or a mistake….just basically a random, completely unimportant chunk of wood.” He shrugged, and taking it from her hand, placed it back on top of the dresser.

The sound of one of their tiny girls shifting in her bed caused them both to stop talking and take a step toward her, but then she seemed to be sleeping soundly again.

“Okay,” Lucy said softly. “I know I could stand here all night--and I’m pretty sure you could too….but we’ll definitely be better parents if we get at least a little sleep. And the first step to us getting some sleep is us not waking  _ them _ .” She took another long look at their girls, then grasped his wrist, pulling him back into the hallway, and toward their room.

His gaze lingered on the nursery doorway until they were right in front of their own. “Good thing the Army taught me to sleep anywhere, but a few hours in a real bed with you sounds just about perfect right now.”

“Agreed….I’m pretty sure I look like a zombie,” she turned back to face him.

“Nope,” he said, “You look amazing. Because you are amazing.”

She laughed, “You’re obviously over-tired and emotional, but you’re not so bad yourself.”

He laughed in return, and reached an arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him until their lips met in a heart-felt kiss that lingered….until the cries of one of their now-very-awake children startled them apart.

“Ah,” he groused, “Not cool, kid.”

“Okay,” sighed Lucy, “Let’s go see--”

“No, no, no, and no.” he interjected. “I’ll go--you get in that bed and get some sleep.”

She looked at him, a combination of gratitude and a question in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I got--”

No doubt woken by her sister, a second cry suddenly joined the first.

Wyatt looked toward the nursery as the chorus of cries grew stronger, then turned his gaze back toward Lucy as the sound of her laughter joined the cries.

She smirked at him. “Looks like you could use some backup, soldier.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes, but then grabbed her hand, and with a voice so thick with emotion it surprise him, replied “Always”.

“Come on,” she said, tugging gently at his hand as she lead the way back to the nursery, and as the cries of their daughters grew even louder, “Don’t worry,  _ we _ got this.”

“We do,” he agreed.

He followed her back toward the nursery, to comfort their children.

_ Definitely worth it. _


End file.
